His body betrays him. He must take a breath even if it’s icy green salt. It fills his mouth. The valve at the top of his esophagus seals. With the epiglottis closed, he suffocates.
DAR’JERYD RESISTS THE urge to scratch at the thin scar decorating his left cheek across his nose bridge to just under his right eye. The cybernetic implant replaced the damaged retina.
Had he retired to the medical bay when ordered, the treated scar would have dissipated completely, but he chose to remain at his captain’s side. It cost him his eye. His scar—badge of honor—prevents him from requesting a mate to further his pure bloodline.
“You’ve recovered. I’m sorry about the scar.” Kantian grips Dar’Jeryd’s hand, holding the firm embrace.
“Leaving the bridge at such crisis meant death. A scar would mean nothing to the dead.” He breaks the grip of friendship, squaring his shoulders into the attention stance. “I formally request a reposting, Captain. Sorry, Sir, Admiral?”
“You’ve earned any post I’m able to award you.” Kantian activates the computer on his desk.
“They reassigned most of the surviving Deliverance crew except a few key officers.”
“You don’t want to be a part of the refit, Dar’Jeryd?”
“I request a place under your direct command, Admiral. The new captain of the Deliverance is newly promoted Lt. Commander Helena Gibson. She favors VP Admiral Maxtin.”
“She will make a fine captain.”
“I have no doubt, Admiral. You’re the only officer to do anything about the Mokarran in thirty years. I must request to be under your command.”
“Maxtin speaks openly of peace. Admiral Easter waits for death, and the other three VP admirals keep to the political shadows.” Kantian drums the desk with his fingertips. “If I am not elected to replace Admiral Easter, your career will stagnate. The new VP admiral will dismiss all my staff, and who knows where we’ll be assigned. Could be a garbage scow.”
“Admiral, you need a political strategy officer,” Dar’Jeryd says.
“Considering the appointment?”
“No, Admiral.”
“I need someone to be canvassing not only the military command for support but the planets of the UCP. It should be a joint military/civilian task force. I need to know who else would be primed to take Easter’s place. The UCP founding charter doesn’t state the VP must be military, so a few of the senators may have aspiration.”
“Many want to bring the Mokarran to their knees for their actions,” Dar’Jeryd says.
“I have you transferred to my staff. You are directly responsible for creating a committee to prepare my campaign for vice-presidential admiral. Pair both a military and civil liaison. They report to you and you report directly to me. Make sure they understand there should be no active campaigning until after Easter’s death. And a respectful mourning period.”
“I understand, Admiral.”
“Also, let’s find where the other three VP admirals stand on the possibility of war. Maxtin keeps them in check. They won’t speak out against him. But even if one of them will vote for engagement, we are closer to defeating the Tri-Star Federation.”
“I will need a higher security clearance, Admiral,” Dar’Jeryd says.
“You’ll be a lieutenant commander.”
“The rank’s not important, Sir. Our reward will come when we grind the Mokarran into dust.”
A wavering Commlink chirp breaks the conversation.
“Should I request maintenance to repair your communication system?”
“They are functioning at capacity.”
“I’ve never heard such a signal bleat,” Dar’Jeryd says.
“It’s a secure message directly from Admiral Easter.”
••••••
LABORED IN HER breathing, Admiral Easter removes the oxygen mask from her mouth to soak in the flora air.
“Better than any tanked oxygen. With little mammalian life allowed in here, this botanical air remains rich.” Her breathing improves.
Three aliens accompany the VP admiral, all in formal attire. The Hardarens’ regal yet refined in his color choices, allowing the ambassadorial medallion to shine on his chest.
Easter introduces him, “Gerold Ralehorn represents the recent founded colony inside the Riftgate. He last stood on his home world shortly after the Battle of the Twin Suns before the Mokarran scattered his people.”
He gives an uncharacteristic bow to Kantian.
The green shirt of Darren highlights the burgundy skin. It lacks a fashion statement.
“Lunkal Ren represents the Darren Consortium, one of the first non-Osirian planets to confirm the UCP charter.”
“Our people want to defeat the Mokarran, Admiral. We lose so many to mercenary consignments after they complete their military service.”
A technicality—Kantian knows their soldiers train as mercs in many Osirian Lances. There are nearly as many Darrens in Lances as Osirians. They renounce their UCP citizenship in order to fight the war Maxtin resists. When war is officially declared, those Darrens will return home.
The final male, a Kelstardon, belongs to the warrior cast. He sports an elongated dagger on his left. The Ke’sa’tal blade is only drawn as a matter of honor. Soldiers are conditioned from birth to take their own life if they bring disgrace to their people.
Not an inquisition but a warrior cohort.
“In order for you to effectively campaign as my successor, you’ll need more than just military support. Every citizen must vote, and several senators will push for a nonmilitary leader.”
“We will push our people to vote for you, Admiral Kantian, but we request two conditions.”
Buying me before I am even in power.
“People want action against the Mokarran. You proved you are not afraid of such action. Once nominated you must publicly declare a platform gearing us to defeating the Mokarran,” Lunkal Ren says.
“It takes a uniformed consensus to declare war. Admiral Maxtin will never agree,” Kantian says.
“Make the declaration. With the citizenry supporting the action, the other VP admirals will fall in line,” Ralehorn says.
“As an incoming candidate, you must state your desire for VP admiral term limits. Lifetime appointments stagnate the growth of the Confederation,” Lunkal Ren says.
“None of the other VP admirals will bring such
